


Firsts, Seconds, and Thirds

by Prentice



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Bi-Curiosity, Coming of Age, Eventual Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:03:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4172187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prentice/pseuds/Prentice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy's life has always been made up of a series of firsts, seconds, and thirds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any grammar or tense issues.

Foggy is nine years old the first time he kisses a girl. Or, well, okay, he’s nine years old the first time a _girl_ kisses _him_. It’s a distinction that his nine year old self isn’t really capable of making, but his older self feels the need to point out if only because, as far as first kisses go, that one had been pretty – well, not awful, exactly, but then again not great either.

Average, maybe. Mediocre. Right on par with everyone else’s first kiss.

He doesn’t remember the girl’s name now – Jenny, maybe? Jessica? – but he remembers the kiss. Remembers the way she’d _smashed_ her mouth against his own; her lips just kind of there all of a sudden, pushing against his. They’d been dry and strangely soft, the awkward angle she’d forced their lips together pushing them harder against one side of his mouth than the other and making them drag against his cheek as she pulls away.

He doesn’t remember what happened after that. He thinks maybe she’d run away – or he had – or maybe they both had. He doesn’t know and can’t remember; the only clear memory being of the kiss itself.

It’s not a big deal though.

He thinks maybe that’s just how it is for everyone: remembering but not remembering. Time and age pulling away at the finer details until the only thing left is vague impressions and imprecise recollections. Things that you try to remember when someone or something reminds you of it.

 

*

Only, that idea doesn’t really work, does it, because Foggy remembers his second kiss – his second _first_ kiss – as clearly as the day it happened. Which is – kind of telling in retrospect. Kind of _really_ telling in retrospect, but he’s never claimed to be anything other than profoundly normal and because of that, he – like almost every other kid – doesn’t really get what that means until later.

Much – _much_ – later.

*

Foggy is twelve years old the first time he kisses a boy. This time _he’s_ the one doing the kissing. Another distinction that’s weirdly important to his older self if only because it goes both better and worse than his other first kiss.

Better because it feels good. Great. Better than he ever imagined it would.

He remembers it’s with Brett because _of course_ it’s with Brett. It would always have to be with Brett because, up until high school, Brett is his best friend. Also, kind of his worst enemy, but mostly his best friend, and that seems to be good enough for both of them until those rocky years where puberty and high school hierarchy tear them apart.  

Their friendship – already kind of crumbling around the edges by this point – suffers a further collapse from the kiss. Though it’s not for the reasons some people might think it would be. Brett is surprisingly cool and calm about the kiss, for all that he doesn’t seem to particularly enjoy it. Not like Foggy does.

He’s willing to try it again, though, when Foggy asks him to – and, yeah, it feels just as good the second time. Brett’s lips are warm and soft and a little bit damp from where he’d been sipping on his lemonade. He tastes tartly sweet and oddly spicy and…

It’s – good. Really good. Almost too good. But…

Only for Foggy, because Brett doesn’t – didn’t – want to do it anymore. Not after that second time, when Foggy tries to press his tongue clumsily against Brett’s mouth and use his teeth the way he’d seen that guy do in the movie his sister had been watching last night when she thought he was asleep.

It doesn’t work out.

At least, not like it had in the movie.

Far from falling into his arms like the girl from the movie had, Brett pushes him away, bottom lip sluggishly bleeding, the look on his face somewhere between confused anger and uneasy betrayal. He doesn’t like that, he says, tone conveying a weirdly wounded finality because he doesn’t understand why Foggy bit him.

Looking back on it, Foggy doesn’t know why he did either. It’s not like he knew what he was doing. It had just seemed like a good idea at the time and he’d followed the impulse when Brett had said ‘yes’ because – well, he’d wanted to try it and Brett was his friend – his best friend, even.

Well, best worst friend. Worst best friend. Whatever.

Only, not anymore, and while Foggy knows that _that_ kiss isn’t exactly the cause of their growing apart, he still can’t help but feel like it pushed them a little quicker towards the inevitable. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, he thinks, because life tends to be a series of choices and consequences and this is just another result from one of them. Still, though, he remembers that kiss – those _two_ kisses – far better than the other one.

*

It’s inevitable, really, that _that_ kiss – well those _two_ kisses – come back to him sometime later, after things start going a little sideways in his life. The memory flows over him like water, washing away the exhaustion, the tears and reminding him of how sometimes choices are made, and consequences are paid. That’s just the way life is.

For him, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 6/3/15


	2. Chapter 2

There are kisses in between because _of course_ there are kisses in between, but the second time Foggy truly remembers kissing a girl, he’s somewhere in his teens. Fourteen or fifteen to be exact and happy to be out of school for yet another year. _He_ kisses _her_ this time, the steady thrum of some summertime pop song playing loud over the speakers of somebody else’s radio.

He can remember the girl’s name this time – Natalie – and how she tastes like strawberry lip-gloss and the sugary fizz of Coca-Cola. It had been – it _is_ – better than his first kiss with a girl. No longer nine years old, he can appreciate the gentle press of sticky lips and tentative tongue. The sweet smell of her shampoo and the chipped glittery blue nail polish on her fingernails.

It’s – good. Nice. Not perfect but then again not horrible either.

He kisses her again – several times again – sometime later, hands clumsily cupping her breasts through her t-shirt. He doesn’t lose his virginity that night, or the night after, or the night after that. In fact, he never loses his virginity to Natalie at all, but instead kisses her softly, slowly, exploring her mouth with gentle teeth and tongue and wondering at the pleasantness of it all, because this is better than he thought it would be.

Better than he ever _hoped_ it could be, really. Which is – confusing. Really, _really_ , confusing.

*

Confusion is not, surprisingly, an ongoing theme in Foggy’s life. After he pushes past those awkward teenage years, he manages to figure himself out. Well, mostly figure himself out anyway.

Before that, though, it doesn’t go so easily. Not so easily _at all_.

*

The second time Foggy kisses a boy, he’s seventeen and little bit – okay, a _lot_ – tipsy. The smell of cheap beer and cheaper mixers is heavy in the air and he feels a little bit like laughing, like screaming. He’s graduating – _finally_! – in a few weeks and the party his friend has thrown has bled into the small hours of the mourning and the tiny bedrooms of his family’s two bedroom apartment.

There’s teenagers _everywhere_ , friends and familiar faces alike, pushing and pulling at each other as music and conversation and loud drunken laughter fills up every corner, and Foggy feels a little bit like he’s floating. He doesn’t do the kissing this time, doesn’t even think about it, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t even _know_ the kid that’s doing it. Can’t even begin to guess at a name because Foggy has friends, of course he has friends, but he isn’t friends with _everyone_ , and this kid – his face is familiar, the lines of it strong in his memory – but Foggy has no fucking clue who he is – was – and it’s kind of dizzying to think about.

The kiss is – kind of insanely hot. Amazing in a way it’s never been before. Wet and slippery and messy enough that he feels like blacking out.

He spends the rest of the party with his lips on the boy’s own, nipping and sucking and teasing until they’re both panting into each other’s mouths in dirty wet gasps that leave him hard and aching. He loses what little is left os his virginity that night, hands clumsy as he rucks the boy’s pants down and drags him in close, movements awkward and jerky with so much inexperience. It doesn’t last long; the tight hot heat surrounding him and buzz of alcohol blurring out the edges of any control he might have had.  

He wakes in the morning sore muscled and heavy limbed, hangover throbbing like a jackhammer in his skull. The boy – what was _his_ _name_? – is already gone, his friend’s apartment mostly empty save for a few hung over stragglers and his friend fast asleep with his head in an punch bowl. He goes home quickly, not so much sneaking in as just walking through the door, and has an epiphany – _the_ epiphany – while scrubbing come stains off his t-shirt.

*

Sometimes Foggy thinks he owes that nameless boy a debt of gratitude. One that he’ll never be able to repay – ever be able to repay – because he doubts he would have figured it out on his own. At least, not _that_ easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 6/3/15


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up as well as my slow updating schedule. I promise there will be more chapters for everything soon. For those interested, I did some editing to previous chapters to clean up some messy tense, grammar, and flow problems so hopefully it's a better read overall. 
> 
> Also, for those who have twitter, feel free to follow me or hit me up with requests/prompts @slyprentice. Fair warning, I'm signal boosting for #SaveHannibal right now so there might be a lot of Hannibal-related tweets.

There are more kisses after that. Meaningful and meaningless kisses that pepper his past in an array of vaguely remembered circumstances, but the third time Foggy truly remembers kissing a girl, she’s not a girl, she’s a woman. He doesn’t remember who does the kissing, doesn’t even remember how it starts. He just remembers how desperate it was, how angry.

Marci Stahl is like no one he’s ever met before. She’s tough and bossy, ambitious enough for their entire graduating class, and isn’t willing to take shit from anybody. She’s also probably the hugest bitch that Foggy has ever met and he’s pretty sure he’s half in love with her by the time she finishes ripping to shreds the opposing council’s arguments during one of their classes’ mock trials.

It’s stupid of him – falling for someone like Marci.  She’s so far out of his league – out of his damn _hemisphere_ – that it’s kind of ridiculous. Moreover, as weird as it sounds – as weird as it _feels_ – Foggy’s not even a hundred percent sure _why_ he wants her the way he does.

She’s like – she’s this – this – _god_ , he doesn’t even know. She’s smart and sassy and kind of a shark but she’s also strangely kind and complimentary and is willing to do the right thing if pushed enough.

And, yeah, it’s kind of weird to be attracted to her. It’s also kind of irritating – and annoying and frustrating. And – god _dammit_ not again – confusing, because Foggy thought he’d had this crap figured out a while ago and Marci Stahl is walking all over that because she’s just so damn – damn…

Fuck, okay, she’s hot and infuriating and kissing her is kind of like kissing a fucking tornado because it’s as scary as it is exhilarating and he’s not sure if he ever wants to experience it again. He does though – a lot – because she and Foggy can’t seem to keep their hands off each other and it’s awkward and strange and Foggy thinks that maybe she’s one of the best friends he’s ever had.

* 

It doesn’t last long. Of _course,_ it doesn’t last long. A relationship like theirs, it isn’t meant to, and if Foggy’s being honest, he’s kind of relieved when it’s all over and done with, because dating – no, not dating, _never_ dating – a woman like Marci is exhausting.

It’s confusing, too, because – well, because he thought he had a handle on all this. Thought he knew exactly where he stood and why he stood there, but Marci seems to be the exception. Whether she’s the exception that _proves_ the rule or the exception _to_ the rule, he doesn’t really know, but he thinks he can live with it.

After all, women like Marci Stahl come around only once in a lifetime and he thinks that’s probably a good thing. For him and for everybody else because – god _damn_ , Marci can be a infuriating sometimes.  

*

The third time Foggy kisses a boy, he’s not a boy, he’s a man, and Foggy feels a little dizzy at the implications of it all. Not because it’s a man because, wow, just wow, but because it’s – it’s –

It’s everything. Just – _everything_. And he feels a little sick inside when he realizes it, because this kiss – this one kiss – is – is – it’s a joke. Or, not a joke, because jokes are _supposed_ to be funny, and this _isn’t_ , and it’s just – he just…

He wants it to stop. He wants _everything_ to just _stop_ , because this isn’t right. This isn’t – it’s not supposed to be this way. Not here, not now, not with – with –

Matt.

_Not_ with _Matt_.

_Never_ with Matt.

He promised himself that a long time ago.

 

*

Sometimes Foggy feels a little bit like the universe is playing a joke on him. He shouldn’t, maybe, because, for all that his life is filled with alien invasions and superheroes, it’s actually pretty normal. Mundane, even, for being a defense attorney in Hell’s Kitchen who has to deal with bad guys with delusions of grandeur on a fairly regular basis.

Even so, however, there are times – like now – that makes him feel like all that other stuff is nothing compared to this. This, of course, being that he’s falling in love with his best friend. Because that’s not supposed to happen.

Not to him.

Please god, if you’re there, not to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Next update on Thursday.


End file.
